


Hoover Dreams Suck

by ratadder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-20
Updated: 2003-01-20
Packaged: 2018-11-20 18:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratadder/pseuds/ratadder
Summary: Walter Skinner ponders a recurring dream.





	Hoover Dreams Suck

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Hoover Dreams Suck

### Hoover Dreams Suck

#### by Ratadder

* * *

Hoover Dreams Suck  
by Ratadder

* * *

"Where arrre you?" My soft hiss bounces back at me from the empty corridor. 

I creep a little further down the hall, hugging the wall. Sweat rolls into my eyes and I blink. I keep thinking he's going to go down, toward the basement office. But he doesn't. Hasn't yet anyway. My breathing is just a little too fast. I try to slow it, but my heart is accelerating. My office? Is he heading to my office? Where... where is he going. Where is he... 

My fingers tighten on the gun in hand as I reach the end of the wall, the corner. I suck in a breath, flatten myself against the wall and lift my eyes to the ceiling. Old habit, even though I gave up on anything to pray to back when I was creeping through a very different environment, gun still in hand. 

Around the corner. I have to go around the corner. Go. Just look once, quick, and then go. 

I edge one eye around the corner and jerk back reflexively. My mind processes that I saw nothing. Nothing out of place, except the halls seem longer than they usually do. And are there more of them? I shake off the confusion. I do know where I am. I do. The heavy shadows and the dull gleam of utility lights look just like the Hoover at night. I should know. I'm here often enough after hours. 

Calmed, I look again, slower this time. Nothing, no sign. I slither around the corner and flatten myself against the new wall and begin all over again. Slow steady steps, slow steady breaths. 

Slow steady death. I swallow hard. 

Quick unsteady death? 

Not yet. 

"Where arrre you?" I'm almost crooning now. Whispering the words into the darkness all around. This is tugging so many memories. Hide and seek as a child. Hide and seek in the jungle. I can't remember which was worse. 

I see a flash of movement up ahead, at the juncture of the next endless hallway. A streak of darkness just a little bit darker than the shadows, and then I'm moving. Running. My legs stretch, flex, and my feet pound the smooth floor beneath me. I round the next corner running -- no skulking at this one, no slow looks, no double checks -- and almost trip over the body. I stop short and drop to my knees, jerking my gaze from the bleeding form to search the area more by habit than anything else. 

Nothing. Again. 

I return my attention to the body. He's a guard. Night-time security guard. I know him. Ron. He stares up at me and tries to speak, then dies. 

"Where the fuck are you." 

I'm not crooning anymore. 

I get to my feet and step over the body. The flash was moving in that direction, so I follow singlemindedly. I crouch against the wall and start again. It's too dark. I'm too slow. More people are going to die. I can feel it. I know it as assuredly as I know I'm going to have to argue my staffing requests with the budget committee. I hear another gun shot even as the thought occurs to me. I'm running again, running toward it. 

And so it goes. Another hallway, another body. Gurgling a last breath as a I reach her. Trying to speak but unable. Agent Sidowski. Another shot. Another hallway, another body. Another shot, another hallway, another... 

Every agent under my command, and a few who aren't. Soon they're already dead by the time I reach them. I'm falling further behind, he's pulling further ahead. The gun shots are sounding further away. Checking the bodies is slowing me down. I'm sweating hard now, and my heart is pounding faster, faster. Where is he heading... 

More hallways. There are definitely more hallways than usual. Did Blevins put in for an expansion? Around another corner, another hallway, another- 

Oh Jesus. Scully. Bleeding all over... already dead. My vision blurs, then returns as I sense more movement. I see him, for just a second... running. Running away. No time. He's gone. 

"WHERE ARE YOU..." I'm screaming now, and following again. I slip in the blood on the floor and my heart skips but I don't fall. I have to be careful. Smooth halls. Bloody shoes. Bad combination. Gunshot... oh fuck. Speed up... another one... 

I blast through the door in front of me and enter... another hallway. But I've got him. There. Crouching over the body this time. I take aim, I fire, and he's moving already. I know he can't be dematerializing but that's what it looks like. I falter, thinking of one and twenty weird stories Mulder has tried to hand in as reports. Is he... no. He turns for a split second and looks straight at me. Waves at me. Then he's gone again. 

No alien. No shapeshifter. No ghost. Just Krycek. 

My legs are carrying me forward without my consent. I stop at the body and glance down. Mulder. Of course. He looks... surprised. I understand. I'm surprised too. Shocked, really. I never thought he'd really kill Mulder. I always assumed... the two of them... 

I suck in a breath and step over the body again. I avoid the pooling blood this time. _Move move move._ It's a chant, in my head. I can't hear anything up ahead but I know he's there. Somewhere. Where where? 

My footsteps echo too loudly but I'm not even trying to slink along the wall anymore. I don't know why. Except... this hall looks familiar. I was right. My office. This is my hall. He's heading for my office. Now I start to run again, for the door, knowing where he is now, desparate to prevent the final death I know I can't. I hear the shot before I reach the door and I want to scream but I don't. Through the door and Kim is slumped over her desk, bleeding all over the day's half-opened mail. I still don't scream but I feel like I'm choking and turn away from her immediately, toward my door. Closer... everything is slowing down. I reach for the handle, raise my gun. Fling open the door in slow motion and there... at my desk. Behind my desk, his back to me. I can see the black leather rise and fall with his steady breaths, I can see the black denim, torn and worn. I can see the spike of hair sticking straight up. 

He turns. One neat pivot. And he faces me a different person. There is no blur, I don't see the shift occur, it just _is_. The suit is grey and baggy, the tie is red striped. The face is smoother than I expect, and so open. Such big eyes you have. I didn't see it happen but the hair... it just grew. It's just like it was... exactly. The same smooth dip. The same neat, gleaming arc. The same everything. Perfect. 

"You should close the door. Sir." 

I close the door. 

He walks to me and smiles at me. "What can I do for you today... sir?" Our old joke. 

But he already knows. He's already dropping to his knees. It's so perfect. Such an exact copy of the reality of... before. Of the time when I couldn't believe I was doing this, in my office... but I did it anyway. Of all the times we both said we shouldn't... but we did anyway. Of the time when we laughed breathlessly about our own daring, and had trouble meeting each others' eyes in meetings. A junior agent. My junior agent. My junior _male_ agent. Heady guilt and trembling excitement, and hands clenched on chair arms under the table so no one would see my fingers shaking... 

And it's all the same, right down to the shyness, the slight color rising in his cheeks, as he reaches for my belt. Looking up through his lashes. "Please?" The voice of memory. 

This is always the moment I _realize_ it's a dream. Always the moment I realize I can stop it, I can turn it, I can control what happens. I stare at the gun in my hand and watch it disappear and know I could conjure it back up and choose to end this differently. This time. 

I never do. 

And that's what makes waking up even worse. 

-end- 

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